


Love-locked

by faultierken



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, This is quite likely the clichést thing I've ever written, but I thought that the idea was adorable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 11:51:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faultierken/pseuds/faultierken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine your OTP meeting in Paris, the City of Lights, their chemistry is electric and they instantly become friends. Jokingly, they make a love-lock with their initials on it and inscribed with the word ‘Someday’—a promise for their future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love-locked

**Author's Note:**

> tbh I haven't proofread this.
> 
> I'll do that once I'm not half-asleep anymore

Enjolras stood in the queue for the café counter, bobbing on his toes and fiddling with his quite old cell phone.  
  
Combeferre had texted him to tell him that he would probably be late to their usual meeting in the café, and that they could probably meet up at some point in the evening, so Enjolras had decided to use the opportunity to grab an espresso and search for a nice and quiet place to read the paper and maybe revise some notes.  
  
The line thinned out and he finally got his direly anticipated dose of caffeine for the day, before he left the store to head for the Pont des Arts since it had been the nearest place with a nice view (and he had had to admit that he actually enjoyed the view of the locks practically plastering the bridge)  
  
Clear sky and a soft breeze cheered him on while he dashed to his car to grab his notes and the paper, which he had laid out on the backseat.  
  
It took him a while to actually get to the bridge, but when he did, he easily found an unoccupied bench and moved to sit down on it.  
  
Not many people were around, most of Paris’ population working or spending their time in universities in the early afternoon, which gave Enjolras his desired quietude while he studied. He went through the recent notes he had made during social studies and marked important passages or commented on parts and topics that interested him or that he disagreed with, since it usually helped him remember them.  
  
He was looking through his notes from Wednesday’s class when a shuffle right next to him nearly shoved him off the bench.  
  
Enjolras quickly turned to the vile person disrupting his studies, only to find a black-haired stranger smiling at him. The man was wearing black stonewashed jeans and a green hoodie, hands curled in its pockets, traces of paint sticking to his clothes, and a backpack was loosely slung over his left shoulder, the edge of a notebook peeking out of it. A slight stubble marked his face, which also had been decorated with a blooming black-eye on its right half, and his blue eyes stared right back at him, causing him to mentally flinch at being caught staring.  
  
“Mind if I sit here?” the stranger mused, cocky grin practically glued to his face.  
  
Enjolras gave him a smile in return, before putting his hand up in a dismissive gesture. “You usually have to ask those things _before_ nearly shoving me off my bench, but I’m gonna give you a pass.”  
  
It gained him a raised eyebrow. “Oh, surely because of my _extremely_ handsome attire.”  
  
“Oh well, that comment ruined it, thank you,” Enjolras joked in return, turning back to his notes, leaving the stranger to himself. He heard him huff a laugh, before the guy’s backpack swung forward and softly hit his back. The blonde ignored it, watching the man get out his notebook and a piece of charcoal through a curtain of curls.  
  
He started sketching edgy outlines of bows and pillars, slightly smearing former strokes while making new ones, adding to the greater picture with every flick of his wrist.  
  
Enjolras immediately identified the view he had been looking at for the past hour. The rails of the bridge nearly blending in with lantern posts, but standing in clear contrast to the Seine in the background, a boat he didn’t actually see on the river, flowing along its stream. The sketch had a clear focus on the railing, though. Tiny lovelocks with hastily-scribbled inscriptions on them, all kinds of shapes and sizes.  
  
The stranger looked up from his sketchbook to raise an eyebrow at him again. “It’s just a picture of a bridge, nothing interesting. So why are you daringly devouring Dionysus’ dear doodle with your eyes.” He ran a hand through his hair, taming the curls that had fallen into his eyes.  
  
Enjolras smiled. “A mere picture would not be able of showing such an amazing view, but your so-called ‘ _sketch_ ’, looks like you’ve taken the essence of this place and somehow poured it onto paper with charchoal.”  
  
A slightly wavering grin. “Yeah well, last time I’ve checked I was only a lazy art student and not a god of art, but thank you, I guess.” He skillfully flipped the charcoal pencil in his hand, scribbling an ‘R’ onto the bottom of the sketch, tore it from the sketchbook and held it out for Enjolras to take.  
  
The blonde stared at him, open-mouthed, eyebrows raised in surprise.  
  
“Take it, I don’t need it anyway and I feel like you deserve it.” ‘R’ smiled. “Don’t eat it, though, I don’t know whether charcoal is slightly toxic or not, and I wouldn’t risk it if I were you.”  
  
Enjolras took the painting and took another look at it, focusing on the inscriptions once more. Especially the biggest one seemed to actually say something. He folded it and stuck it in between the pages of his notebook, while Grantaire gathered his stuff together and quickly shoved it into his half-dissolved backpack.  
  
“Well, I have to go, catch the metro and go to class. You know, _stuff_ ,” he muttered and got up, dusting off his charcoal-blackened hands on his hoodie.  
  
Enjolras pushed himself up, too. “Actually, I have to go the same way, I think,” he subconsciously lied, wanting to actually talk to the stranger a bit more.  
  
It seemed to make ‘R’ stumble over his words before speaking up again, “Okay, I guess.” He turned to start walking, Enjolras directly behind him.  
  
They walked in silence, the before lightning-lit chemistry between them apparently having dissolved. Enjolras considered the love-locks framing the railing.  
  
The black-haired student picked up on it and snorted. “They’re ridiculous, aren’t they? I estimate 89.7% of the couples broke up, like, 3 seconds after locking that damn thing and clogging the beautiful view with it.”  
  
Enjolras regarded him with a disbelieving look, which he didn’t seem to quite notice.  
  
“Just some more stupid believes in this world, made permanent by a hasty decision made by two, or maybe theoretically more or less, love-struck dove-like creatures,” he went on, completely ignoring Enjolras’ judging glare. “I think I actually know someone who let a dumb lock get inscribed for this.”  
  
They passed one of the many little stores selling locks. Enjolras took the chance. He stopped ‘R’ by putting a hand on his shoulder, giving him a challenging smile. “Let’s test your theory about these so called ‘stupid believes’. We’ll put a lock up and if we never see each other again, well then you’re right. If we do, I win, you have to invite me out for a cup of coffee or something.”  
  
The stranger gave him another cocky grin, and mustered the different types of locks, quickly picking one out with trained eyes. He paid for it and gave it to Enjolras. “There, try it.”  
  
Enjolras laughed at the inscription, but went over to the railing and quickly locked the big heart-shaped lock. He looked back to see that the man had already disappeared in the crowd.  
  
Yeah, ‘Someday-‘ was, after all, a quite good promise to make.


End file.
